


The Least of My Sins

by Jade_Masquerade



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But I suppose it could have happened during 3.10, F/M, Prison AU, TLKFFF2020, sort of??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: Uhtred supposed most other men in his position would have spent their remaining hours begging for mercy, asking to talk to a priest, praying to the nailed god absolve their sins, but he had long ago resigned those things. Wyrd bio ful araed—his fate would be what it was.Instead he studied Aethelflaed: her pretty face that had made many a man more than him seek her affections, her eyes that had always shone for him, her lips that had so often curved as they shared a private smile in recognition of the folly hat surrounded them or in response to something only they together found amusing. Somewhere he knew it was a sin to covet another man’s wife, yet Aethelflaed had kissed him once when she thought it perhaps her last chance.This would be the least of my sins,he thought, and this time he was the one to lean in, to close the space between them.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: The Last Kingdom Fanfic Fest





	The Least of My Sins

Everything echoed loud at this time of night, the hour of the shadow walkers: the rustle of the wind, the creak of tree branches, the drip of water into the gutter lining the street, all sounds that would seem to vanish when the sun rose along with the morning mists. Uhtred was too keen, too aware of them—the scrape of his hands on these iron bars, his breath, the beat of his heart… also sounds that very well may have disappeared by morning. 

This punishment that was being locked up in here with nothing but his own thoughts was far more excruciating than whatever he would suffer come then, he knew. Fury stirred in him until it gave way to misery. It was not death he feared, but weakness, disappointment for those who trust in him, those who rely on him. 

Perhaps that fate would not be so bad. He hoped there at least he would see Gisela, wherever he ended up, if he was fortunate. If not, surely Alfred would be there to chastise him himself, or in the event Niflheim awaited, maybe he and Ragnar could make amends while they froze together in an endless winter. And Thyra… Uhtred could not picture her anywhere beyond, that wound far too raw. His heart felt heavy when he thought of her, and Beocca, and his sadness compounded. 

And as for Aethelflaed, his vow, his protection, his love for her would all be useless now, another failed promise. 

Death or banishment from the kingdom that contained his lands and which his children called home was no choice at all. Cowardice might keep him from the gallows, but it would not do for reputation. He would not be cowed, would not recant his claim when he told the truth of Alfred’s pardon, when this punishment was undeserved, a perversion of justice. And could not betray Father Beocca’s call for help—Uhtred could not imagine abandoning the seeking of justice for Thyra as he had not rested for Ragnar, and he would not give in to those who wished to destroy this tenuous peace Wessex had built or threatened its innocents. 

He closed his eyes, not sure why when he knew sleep would still elude him, and it was then he heard a break in the silence. Footsteps slipped down the stairs, as delicate and graceful as a spirit might descend. He peeked the slightest bit, peering through the darkness to see a lithe shadow—one of Loki’s tricks, a mirage, a trick easy for which a restless mind to fall. 

But the sound only grew louder, each tap splitting the night’s quiet, until a key rattled in the rusted lock, and then Aethelflaed stood before him. 

“Lady?” 

She had changed since earlier, her finery replaced with a dark, drab dress, her hair unbound. The plainness made her look no less beautiful though, and he watched as she removed her hood and slipped the key into a pocket of the cloak she wore. 

“Where did you find that?” Uhtred asked with suspicion, still not daring to believe she existed there in front of him and not as a figment of his overwrought imagination. He had no doubt she had a dagger hidden beneath her skirts, but he doubted she’d dare use it within the palace and against her father’s men, no less. 

“I have my charms,” she said slyly, sitting down on the stone bench beside him and smirking up at him from beneath her curtain of dark hair. 

“I do not doubt that,” he said. He had been a victim of them far too many times to feign ignorance. 

“And my friends,” she said. “I merely asked Steapa for the keys. He has always been fond of me and thinks of me as near as his own daughter.”

“That’s all?” Steapa was more strong than shrewd, but Uhtred still could not imagine that even he would be that dense. 

“Well… I also had to promise you’d remain here,” she confessed. “Mother still wants your head to adorn the walls of Winchester in the morning.”

“She wouldn’t prefer nailing me to a cross?” 

Aethelflaed did not seem amused. 

“I’m sure she cares little about the means as long as it results in an end. It’s all she’s ever wanted.”

“Maybe not all of it.” She gave an empty laugh. “She hopes to see my father again. She wishes for heaven, too, someday.” 

Uhtred rolled his eyes. He had always known that place, with its angels and endless singing, would never be for him, and the thought of spending eternity with Lady Aelswith only confirmed that inkling. 

“I suppose I’ll be seeing that farce for what it is soon enough,” he said. “I doubt they’ll return my sword before.” 

Aethelflaed shifted in discomfort, and he wished he could soothe her fears, protect her from this as he had so much else. “If you wish for Valhalla…” 

“I’ll need Serpent Breath for it.” 

“Surely any blade will do? And must it be a blade?” she asked. “You’ve killed a man with less.” 

“I don’t know.” She glanced down at his hands and he allowed her to take one in both of hers. “Are you suggesting I take a stone in hand instead? Or a flagon of water?”

“Cannot anything be used as a weapon if the situation necessitates it? I believe you taught me that once.” 

He stifled a laugh as he remembered when he had advised her to drive a hairpin through Aethelred’s eye if he dared to put his bruising hands on her again, or to aim the heel of her boot just right. “You came here to talk of weaponry?” 

“No.” Her eyes turned sad then, and he rued making her feel that way. “Uhtred, you said before… I want you to know Mercia will always have a place for you.” 

“I’ll be as good an outlaw there, too.” 

“Banishment does not mean death,” she said. “It would be foolish to die for your pride.” 

Deep down he knew she was right, and it would be all too easy to accept her offer, but there was no honor in that. “Mercia will never be home,” he said. He hated to disappoint her, for her to feel forlorn once more, but she had the right to know the truth. “Not for I nor you, not while your husband lives.” 

“Then it’s…” Aethelflaed could not bring herself to speak of the possibility. “Or Bebbanberg.” 

“Or Bebbanberg,” he agreed, that option far preferable to meeting his end over a matter like this. “But that will take gold, men, time.” He left unsaid that he had not any one of those, and then he grinned to wash away the sorrow on her face. “I have only a princess, whose kindness nor beauty I deserve.” 

“Uhtred.” She took her turn to roll her eyes now, but he could tell even in the darkness that she blushed at his words. 

He supposed most other men in his position would have spent their remaining hours begging for mercy, asking to talk to a priest, praying to the nailed god absolve their sins, but he had long ago resigned those things. Wyrd bio ful araed—his fate would be what it was. 

Instead he studied Aethelflaed: her pretty face that had made many a man more than him seek her affections, her eyes that had always shone for him, her lips that had so often curved as they shared a private smile in recognition of the folly hat surrounded them or in response to something only they together found amusing. Somewhere he knew it was a sin to covet another man’s wife, yet Aethelflaed had kissed him once when she thought it perhaps her last chance. 

_This would be the least of my sins,_ he thought, and this time he was the one to lean in, to close the space between them. 

She made a noise of surprise, but it only took a moment before she kissed him back, her mouth hot and pliant and eager against his. He pulled her towards him, his hands sliding from her hips up to her waist, his thumbs skimming beneath the swell of her breasts. 

“If someone enters now I won’t have to wait til morning for my fate,” he murmured, even as he felt his cock press almost painfully against the laces of his breeches. 

“I’ll tell them you wished to pray,” she said. “They cannot deny you that.” 

He made his movements slow, deliberate, so if anyone walked in they could claim something other than what it might appear, and he slipped to the floor and pushed her knees apart so he could kneel between them. 

“Uhtred…” 

“Maybe I do wish to pray,” he said. 

“Do you think that will make them let you— _oh,_ ” her words dissolved into a gasp as he reached up and felt she’d worn nothing beneath her skirts. 

“How very wicked of you, Lady,” he said, meaning to tease, but his voice dropped to a low rumble instead. He watched her reaction as he ran his fingers over her, through the softness of the folds between her legs, and slid them into the wetness that gathered there. 

If this was to be his last night on this earth, or at the very least his sole moment with Aethelflaed, he wanted to know what she tasted like, what sweet sound she would make as she came against his tongue. He lifted her leg until the heel of her boot came to rest on the edge of the stone bench, and diving back beneath the hem of her skirt, he swiped his tongue against her clit. 

She gasped more sharply this time, her hips jumping, and he responded by smoothing his tongue over her again and again, adding more pressure as she writhed beneath him and as her legs began to tighten around him. Uhtred never had been able to abide the hours he’d been forced to spend on his knees as a child in prayer, looking up at the altar adorned in silver and gold, reciting prayers and scripture full of words that held no meaning for him, but now he scarcely noticed the sharp, roughhewn floor snagging through his breeches, each one of her moans and sighs worth every bit any fraction of pain. 

Her legs trembled beneath his touch, and he slipped his palms beneath her and curled them around her thighs to keep her upright. When he glanced up, he was certain it was from pleasure though, and not fear, and he drank in the way she looked—her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes dark with desire until she closed them and leaned her head back against the stone wall. Aethelflaed speared her fingers through his hair, and he bent back to his task, her hands urging him on, tugging at his jerkin, clutching his shoulders. 

At last he felt her peak, her body slackening, unraveling around him, panting and boneless, and he shifted to catch her, to hold her in his arms again and whisper whatever tender words she wanted to hear, but instead she surprised him, seeming to regain a surge of her strength and clambering over until she sat astride him. 

“I still want you,” she said, his cock twitching at her breathlessness, the rush of heat he could feel even through the material separating them, the slickness he wiped from his lips before he kissed her again, long and deep. 

“You have me,” he said, his smirk making it a cheeky answer, the tone of his voice a vow. 

“Uhtred,” she demanded, with the voice of a lady, of a queen, and he acquiesced; he would never let her want for naught. 

Aethelflaed nipped at his lip and grinned, her fingers first finding the laces of jerkin and loosening them, and then lowering to those of his breeches. 

He groaned as she freed his cock, wrapping her hand around it and stroking him, and then she looked down to steal a glimpse of him. He could feel her cheeks redden as he swept his thumbs across them, burning like a maiden’s when she caught him watching her. 

“It has been a long time,” she confessed against his neck, and he nodded, remembering she had loved and lost too as he had. 

She balanced with one hand on his shoulder, sliding over the muscles of his back, her fingernails biting into the skin of his tattoo, and her other curled around the hammer he wore about his neck, her fist resting above his heart. With the kind of patience he never could have possessed himself, she sank down on him bit by bit, her cunt clenching tightly around him. Only when he filled her completely did she release the breath she’d held in, letting it out in a rush of quiet laughter. 

“You find me amusing, Lady?” he asked, straining to stay still as she began to roll her hips. 

“No, only as handsome as always,” she said. “It merely seems that no matter what some seem to think, we do fit together after all.” 

He kissed her again to show her how right she was, and his hands sought out every inch of her. He drew them down through her hair, encouraging her to bare her throat to him, and he knew the strands she so often wore in neat braids or artful twists would be a mess after this, he would make sure of it. Just as certain was he that the scrape of his beard would leave a flush across her chest come morning as he tugged down the bodice of her dress until it slipped down below her breasts, and that the impression of his teeth on her neck would linger there, evidence of how at least for a night she had belonged to him. 

If they were abed, it would be different, he thought, desperate, rough, and fast, but he was wroth to take her like that against the rough stone wall or the filthy floor—to take her at all—so Uhtred contented himself to allow Aethelflaed to do as she liked, and instead slow, sensual, and sweet it was. He could not deny the pleasure of it though, the way he could grip her thighs, her hips, her waist, or mouth her breasts when she rose up so he nearly slipped free before she sheathed him again. 

It was easy to find a rhythm, like things always had been with Aethelflaed when nothing else seemed to be, and it didn’t take long for her pace to quicken. He braced an arm behind her, and she leaned back into it, trusting him to hold her there and leaving space to fit his hand between them to press his touch against her clit. 

From this angle he could only see Aethelflaed, outlined by the sliver of moonlight that slanted through the bars of the window, the rest of the world blocked out. Perhaps he didn’t need Valhalla, after all; Uhtred imagined nothing he would find there among the warriors he’d fought alongside and those he had killed for his own glory could compare to this. 

She fluttered around him, and he bucked up into her heat a final time, cursing and spilling, and even after he stopped, he held her close, and she clung to him as their sweat cooled and hearts slowed, her dress drifted back to cover her bare legs, and he softened and slipped from her. 

“I don’t want to lose you, too,” she whispered, and at last there was her truth. 

He pulled away, expecting to see tears upon her cheeks and her lip quivering. He found himself wrong, though—she wore the mask of a queen, strong, resolute, and determined as always, the expression of a lady who would not stand to once more be subjugated, humiliated. He cupped her cheek, and in that moment, he knew it was a face he had grown to love, and that he loved it, loved her, more than his own honor, more than his own life. If she could endure the hardships that had been foisted upon her, then he couldn’t very well give in and still consider himself worthy of her. 

“I’ll find a way,” he promised. Beyond the barred window, the sky began to brighten, endless black fading into deep grey, shadows disappearing.

“I know. You always do,” she said, disentangling herself and smoothing over her dress, though he doubted with the damage he’d done to the top part of it that it could be worn properly again. “Good night, Lord Uhtred.” 

“Aethelflaed.” 

She turned, and in the event that this was the last time he truly saw her, he seared it into his memory—how she looked at him with such desire still, the way she stood with such confidence, her expression of hope. 

He cleared his throat, but still the words he wished to tell her, the words that reflected what he felt for her in his heart, would not come. “I will tell you tomorrow.” 

She smiled at that, and he knew he would not allow this to be the first time he failed her.


End file.
